I raised a brow. “B, when was the last time you actually saw me eat one of those? Or, for that matter, anything with meat in it?”

She blinked at me, her eyes narrowing in thought, as if the answer should be obvious, but she was coming up empty. For a moment, she just stared at me, confusion flickering across her face. Her lips parted, as if she was about to say something, but then she stopped. “I… I can’t remember.” Her voice was soft, laced with surprise. “You stopped eating meat? When?”

A quiet laugh escaped me. “Since you’ve stopped eating meat, over a year ago.”

Her eyes searched my face for any trace of a joke, any sign that I was messing with her. But there was none. I wasn’t joking.

The cashier gave me the total, and I pulled forward.

Beverly’s gaze shifted between the intercom and me, as if she was trying to figure out if she’d missed something, if she’d forgotten a detail about me that felt fundamental. “I had no idea,” she said, her voice quiet, almost apologetic. “I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, B. It’s not a big deal.”

She nodded slowly, as though trying to wrap her mind around the revelation. “I guess I’ve just…never paid attention.”

“It’s no big deal, Beverly.”

She rested her head against the window. “I feel like death.”

“Good. You did this to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered. “I’m aware.”

Silence stretched between us as we pulled up to the window.

I handed over a twenty, took the bag, and parked in the lot.

Beverly immediately reached for the pancakes, groaning as she took a bite. “I love you,” she moaned around the food.

I tensed. “You were an idiot last night.”

She swallowed, looking down at her food. “I know,” she said, taking another bite and chewing slowly. “Are you still mad at me?”

“No. I’m just…” I stared ahead, drumming my fingers against the wheel. “You push me, B. You push me too much.”

“I know,” she admitted quietly.

I turned to her then, studying her face. She looked exhausted. Maybe from the drinking. Maybe from other things.

I sighed, running a hand through my freshly buzzed hair. “Beverly.”

Her head snapped up at the way I said her name.

“I need you to stop. I need you to stop testing me.”

She blinked. “I wasn’t⁠—”

“You were.” I held her gaze. “You know you were.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

I shook my head, gripping the wheel. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

Her breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening around her orange juice. Then, barely above a whisper, “Neither do I.”

I exhaled, letting my head fall back against the seat.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

She didn’t know. She didn’t know how much she owned me.